


The Love of Control

by FlyawaySoul



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Affection, Chaotic Neutral Nazeem, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Comfort, Emotional Support, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Dominant, First (Real) Kiss, Fluff, Lawful Evil Bellicose, Male Submissive, Violence, Warrior Woman, agreed upon rules, becoming more than just sex, defense, defensive violence, gratitude, implied contractual sex, implied/reference dom/sub relationship, inquisitor - Freeform, loving dom/sub relationship, no porn yet sorry, overcoming past circumstances, proprietary connotations, proprietary relationship, protecting her sub, providing emotionally and otherwise, rogue man, understanding emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:45:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyawaySoul/pseuds/FlyawaySoul
Summary: Bellicose: adj: "Demonstrating aggression and willingness to fight."Nazeem has accidentally stolen from his frighteningly powerful and frigidly dangerous mistress, Bellicose, Grand Inquisitor to the Baulder Empire. Fearing her wrath might overcome her strict adherence to their contract, he flees through the slums. His escape is halted when he runs into and angers a large and aggressive Orc who threatens to kill him. Bellicose is not far behind and does not take kindly to someone potentially damaging what is legally hers. Nazeem receives a sudden and unexpected new understanding of their feelings towards one another after his rescue and does what he can to explain the revelation to Bellicose.





	The Love of Control

_Fuck._ He darted around a corner, his leather shoes slapping the floor and heart slamming against the inside of his chest. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t the slightest clue who he stole from when he took the purse. It was a mistake. If he had known, he wouldn’t have- 

“Nazeem,” a voice came from beyond the next corner, just out of sight. It was smooth and soft and he just _knew_ it promised retribution. 

_Fuck fuck **fuck. Oh godsdamn.**_ Nazeem nearly tripped over his own tail as he skidded to a halt and reversed directions. He didn’t know it was _her_ when he took the purse. His mistress was not a forgiving woman. Just because he warmed her bed a few times a week didn’t mean that she was going to let him off easily. If anything, he thought it might redouble her fury. 

Gods help him, he was so focused on looking behind him as he fled down the alley that he didn’t even see the huge man before him until he slammed into his back. The man was so solid that the impact threw Nazeem to the ground, knocking the wind from him. Dazed and confused, he had only a moment to clear his mind before being yanked up by his leather armor. 

“What the hell is a little thing like _you_ doin’ in these parts, devil-blood?” Nazeem didn’t even register the slur towards his Tiefling heritage. He only tapped the man’s arm urgently, still glancing behind him.

“Please,” Nazeem begged in a hushed tone, “She’s coming. She’s coming and I have to get out of here. Please,” Nazeem looked into the large man’s eyes. He was an Orc. A big one. Nazeem couldn’t find it in him to care. An Orc might let him live after a good beating. He didn’t think his mistress would be so merciful without a chance to cool down. She’d never been angry with him before, but he had seen her angry with others and it was terrifying. Far more terrifying than an Orc, at any rate. 

The Orc snorted and slammed Nazeem against the wall of the alley, “You should be focusing on the danger upfront, not behind.” The strange Orc leaned in close enough that Nazeem could smell the whiskey on his breath and laughed maliciously. This wasn’t the part of town that someone as small and seemingly innocent as Nazeem should be, but he needed the money and he’d heard there was a noble making their way through to the capital. The crime was rampant here and gangs ran the streets. He had thought that no one would suspect him and the goods he stole would have been assumed pilfered by other criminals.

For a moment, Nazeem considered the Orc’s words. Perhaps he _should_ fear the Orc? He could certainly end Nazeem in any number of unpleasant ways. He was just starting to believe in the Orc’s bid for his survival when he heard her. 

“Sir, I advise you to put him down. He belongs to _me_. If you break him, I’ll have to take his worth out of your skin.”

Nazeem’s blood turned to ice and his red skin flushed until it turned from deep cardinal to ashen scarlet. His green eyes found the source of her voice and he shivered, thankful for her intervention but terrified at her words. Her jaw jerked at Nazeem, eyes narrowed. He was still in trouble, it seemed. The contract he had signed with her a year ago had changed his life. It had probably saved him. Now, however, he feared it may also kill him.

The big Orc turned and glared down at the Tiefling woman. She was small by no means, but she was smaller than the Orc. Towering above Nazeem’s lithe form at her muscular 6’5”, she had skin so light a grey that it was nearly white and her veins showed black under her skin. Her legs began normal enough but rapidly changed to that of a sleek, black-furred animal with cloven hooves. Her black horns jutted from above her proud brow and powdery blue eyes before curving back like those of a Nubian ibex. They were meant as much for cracking skulls as her personality was. Nazeem found her to be beautiful and terrifying all in one breath. 

“Get out of here before I put _you_ against this wall, whore,” the Orc turned back to Nazeem and Nazeem rejoiced with wide eyes. Her aggression would surely be far more focused on the loudmouthed Orc than his accidental transgression. 

“I won’t warn you again. He is _mine_ , and he is in trouble,” and Nazeem’s heart sank. He was still holding on to the hope that she would let him off in light of the situation, but this was his mistress. She would follow the law to the letter, being as forceful, violent, and destructive as was allowed in her pursuit to follow those rules. 

“M-Miss Bellicose, I really didn’t mean to take it,” Nazeem squirmed against the Orc’s grip, “I didn’t know it was you-”

“Be a good boy and shut up, Nazeem.”

Nazeem snapped his mouth closed as Bellicose bored holes into the orc with her eyes. A patient woman, she was not. Not in bed and _certainly_ not anywhere else. He waited and hoped he didn’t get caught up in the upcoming violence. The Orc didn’t know it yet, but he would be lucky if she didn’t smear him across this wall and make a necklace of his teeth. Maybe she would. Maybe she’d decide to make Nazeem’s punishment something a bit less physical. He could work with that. 

“I will not tell you a second time, Orc,” Bellicose began removing the fine hat and silk gloves that softened her form, making her look more feminine and less like a harbinger of death. Removing her hat revealed her hair, a mohawk of thick black braids in a stripe fell out of where it was tucked away to swing like a hangman’s rope just above the base of her tail. By Nazeem’s guess, the Orc had until she unbuttoned the vest and stripped off the uncharacteristic skirts to at least her petticoats.

It was a treat for Nazeem to see her so done up. It was more of a treat to see her strip so intently. Typically when she called him to her bed, she was already wearing what she intended to bed him in if she felt the need to wear anything at all. Terrified of her fury though he was, she was a thing to behold. He watched her hungrily in spite of his situation, trusting her to come through on her end of the contract, but fearing the burning question of whether their contract or the law came first to her. She had paid the debts he owed and kept him from harm from anyone that would want to hurt him for his past. In return, he loyally did her bidding and bedded her when she was in the mood without asking questions. Bellicose was not very different in bed than she was in other aspects of her life. His first time with her had been both exhilarating and frightening and left him questioning many things about himself thereafter, but the contract had otherwise left him free when he would have rotted to death in a cell.

The vest was neatly folded and added to the growing pile of pristine clothing. The Orc was also looking at her now, either confused or enjoying what he probably thought was a show and not an upcoming declaration of dominance. A tingle jolted from Nazeem’s spine down to the tip of his spaded tail. Bellicose untied the knot above her tail that held up the frivolous skirt and carefully creased it into a neat square, leaving her in only a long buttoned shirt and underclothes. Nazeem noticed with a start that it seemed to be _his_ shirt that she was somehow wearing across her broad shoulders. On him, that shirt was a more of a billowing tunic than the tight-fitting bodice looking thing with was on her. The buttons across her breasts were straining against the forcefulness of her torso and it made Nazeem’s stomach flutter in something far friendlier than fear. The Orc began laughing and dropped Nazeem. He started to stand uneasily when Bellicose’s voice cracked like a riding crop.

“Sit, Nazeem.” He felt his body do just that. 

Sitting cross-legged on the ground and straightening his back (“Sitting with poor posture in this position will ruin your back,” as Bellicose had gently but sternly chided him what felt like a lifetime ago), he murmured, “yes ma’am, Miss Bellicose.” She nodded at him and returned her eyes to the Orc who had turned to face her in full. 

“Look, slut. I can let your boyfriend go and make time for you later, but right now-” Bellicose reached up and grabbed the sides of his face, yanking him violently down and slamming the rock-hard base of her horns into his nose, his forehead, and then finally his chin. Each impact was accompanied by a sickening _crack_. She shoved him away when she released him. The Orc recoiled flailing and landed on his ass next to Nazeem, who hadn’t so much as flinched. 

Nazeem was afraid of the Orc falling on him, yes, but somehow the fear of not pleasing his mistress was far more concerning. She strode over to the Orc as he held his face. The man didn’t see her until she was on him like death on a corpse. Bellicose pulled her thickly muscled leg up and kicked the man square in the chest with all the force of an ornery mule. Nazeem heard bones crack, but he only had eyes for his mistress. She liked it when he watched her, and he _immensely_ liked to watch her. 

Her legs were powerful and sleek. Her tail flicked fluidly with the movement and kept her balance firm. The way her face regarded the Orc like he was nothing more than a piece of furniture in the way… it made Nazeem feel warm in a way that confused him, but he didn’t care anymore. He was beyond questioning the things she made him feel and had been for a while now. Perhaps the punishment she had in store for him wouldn’t be as distasteful as he had originally thought? He could only hope so as his adrenaline combined with the rush of new feelings in his body and turned his fear into lust. 

The Orc’s torso bounced against the cobblestones and he audibly struggled to breathe. Bellicose walked forward to plant a cloven hoof to each side of his waist before fisting her hands in his grubby tunic and dragging him from the ground effortlessly. Very similarly to what the orc had done to Nazeem, she slammed him against the wall, shifting her arm to hold him there with her elbow in his throat. 

“Look at me, Orc,” Bellicose barked. When he didn’t, likely because he seemed only pseudo-conscious, she slapped him mercilessly with a clawed hand. Long scratches appeared along his cheekbone from the strike.

It managed to get his attention, at least. The Orc looked up at her with a start, preparing to speak. Before a word could be uttered, Bellicose’s entire hand was planted inside of his mouth, gagging him deeply in such a way that he couldn’t bite down on it without dislocating his own jaw. He made to grab at her with his hands and received a cruel knee to the groin.

“I said look at me.” Gods, her voice sent shivers across Nazeem’s form. The cool, unphased way it rolled off her tongue as though she were murmuring to herself in thought. She was in absolute control and it made Nazeem feel like caged lightning. His skin prickled as the Orc found some semblance of sense and looked into her completely powdery blue eyes. It made it hard to tell where she was looking sometimes, but Nazeem found the effect hypnotizing.

“The next time I tell you to do something, Orc, you will do it without hesitation or I will rip the tusks out of your face and use them to gouge out your eyes. If you understand me, nod your head yes.” The Orc looked loath to do it but nodded nonetheless when Bellicose’s eyes narrowed dangerously at him and her elbow dug more heavily into his throat. She was good at that. She always knew just how much pressure to apply. Nazeem’s jaw clenched at the thought.

“You damaged my toy. Nod your head if you understand,” when the Orc hesitated again, Bellicose twisted her hand deeper into his mouth, causing him to yell and gag, trying in vain to grab at her hands. Each time he did, her hand twisted deeper. Nazeem knew just how strong that grip could be. He knew that the Orc would never be able to break it unless she allowed it, and she was loath to concede control. 

Eventually, the screaming stopped and the orc nodded. Snapping out of his lustful reprieve for a moment, Nazeem questioned what she had meant. The Orc was going to hurt him, sure, but she had stopped him before it came to that. 

“Let me be quite clear,” Bellicose lifted an unimpressed brow, “I do not care how it happened or what you were doing beforehand. You have damaged the legal property of the Grand Inquisitor of the Baulder Empire and assaulted her consort,” the Orc visibly stopped moving - stopped breathing. Nazeem could see the thoughts fly through his head as he realized exactly _who_ he had been calling a whore. 

Artist of Execution. Regent of Pain. The Curse of the Magistrate. She went by many names. Her true name, Bellicose, denoted her aggression and willingness to use violence to her benefit. Her control was measured to the drop in everything that she did. When coupled with her penchant for death, it made her the most effective Inquisitor the Empire had ever seen. She could draw a confession from a dead man, could make a stone bleed. 

The screams of her victims confessing their sins rang out across the prison district like the bells of a cathedral. Her work fighting crimes by weaponizing her controlled cruelty had exalted her to the status of a people-proclaimed goddess according to some, a demon to others. She was the monster that children were told to fear if they broke the rules and the guardian angel that protected the common folk from the dangers of those who would break the law to prey upon them. She was the whip and the rack upon which wills were shattered and justice meted out, and this fine Orc had called her a slut. 

Nazeem had to physically refrain from squirming from the thought. That measured demeanor of hers was good for more than just pain. He had discovered that soon after becoming her consort and she had continued to prove it each time she sent for him to join her in her private quarters. 

“As such,” Bellicose tilted her head, expressionless and cold as the stone around them, “you will receive just retribution as deemed appropriate by the Grand Inquisitor as per law of the land.” The Orc was shaking his head, mouth still being invaded by her fist and throat still pinched between Bellicose and the wall. 

_A rock and a hard place_. Nazeem giggled to himself internally, knowing that Bellicose didn't like being interrupted in the middle of a conversation. He braced himself for what violence he could only guess would come next and was right to do so.

The Orc screamed, loud and unhindered, like an animal. A glance left no wonder why. Bellicose had backed a step away from him and in her hand was the Orc’s tongue, bloody and limp. As he squalled and rocked back and forth from his place on the ground, a door opened up further down the alley. A smaller Orc stepped out and froze at the sight of the large man cradling the blood and spit that flowed out of his ruined mouth in ropes at the feet of the cooly staring woman half-dressed in noble white. Another joined him. Bellicose regarded them for an instant more before dropping the tongue she had just ripped out into the lap of its owner. 

“Excellent,” she sounded bored, “I’m glad you’re here.” The two Orcs didn’t seem to know if they should be angry or scared as they regarded the large Tiefling woman, mostly naked and bloodied up to her forearm on one side. She stalked to Nazeem and held out a hand, “The handkerchief.” Nazeem almost forgot that it was in the bag he had mistakenly stolen from his mistress. Before he could disappoint her, he produced the purse and then the black silk cloth from therein. Bellicose absentmindedly took it in her clean hand. Where Nazeem expected her to wipe her gory hand on the square, she instead paused and gazed at the newcomers, waiting for them to react. When they didn’t, she spoke again.

“You will serve as witnesses that the Magistrate’s formal penance has been carried out for the charges of destruction of property and assault towards the Grand Inquisitor and her consort as per the law of the land. All further grievances with the charged party are hereby considered resolved and reparations paid. Nazeem, get up.”

“Yes, mistress!” He excitedly jumped to his feet, strangely feeling far better now than he had before, even though looking or even thinking about the man with his tongue in his lap a few feet away made him nauseous. She snatched his narrow chin in her clean hand once he was on his feet and drug him close to her face, bringing the nervous panic back with vengeance. Her words were low, spoken in Infernal and meant only for the two of them.

“Run from me again and I will chain you to a post and flog you,” the authority in her voice was stern. It was not a threat, not a promise, but a new law of the land, “ _Steal_ from me again and I will truss you up like a cheap whore, gag you, and show you just how deeply I can make you question the difference between pleasure and pain. Do you understand me, Nazeem?”

“Yes,” Nazeem swallowed thickly, not sure if these threats were supposed to prevent or encourage his behavior, “of course, Miss Bellicose.” She didn’t relinquish his jaw and he didn’t pull away. Her grip was not the one that crushed bone, but the one that had held him steady when she pulled him from the jail cell on the night they met. It was the one that still held him steady on the nights that she made his very essence quake in her bed.

A gasp left him when he felt the gentle touch of the handkerchief on his lip. Bellicose’s gaze was as hard to pinpoint as ever, but the way they were lidded made him think she was looking tenderly at his mouth as she dabbed at something that felt sticky there. After a moment she lifted the handkerchief, and supposedly her gaze with it, to the area just under his nose. With each blot of the cloth, gentle as it was, he noted the soreness of his skin and an ache in his nose. He must have hit the Orc or the ground one with such force that he had bloodied his face. 

“Why did you steal from me, Nazeem?” She tilted his face up, checking to see that the blood was gone. 

“It was an accident, Miss Bellicose,” there was no more sense in telling a lie as there had been running from her. He had been frightened. The fear he had lived with before Bellicose rescued him had consumed him. He was utterly terrified that she would cast him back down into the dungeons like a used toy. He would die down there just as surely as if she had killed him herself. He should have known better, though. That was not something she, _his_ Mistress Bellicose, would ever do to him over something as small as an accidentally stolen purse. 

Bellicose had decided to offer him a deal over a year ago and he’d had no idea why then. _Be mine at my beck and call, do as I ask of you in bed and out of it when I want you. Do this and you will live under my protection with your debts paid and your crimes pardoned. Anyone wishing to harm you for what you have done will answer directly to me_. She hadn’t asked him to live with her, to remain monogamous with her, or even to pretend to like her. In the end, he had found himself doing these things all the same and had come to genuinely enjoy her presence. 

“One does not accidentally snatch a purse,” Bellicose released his jaw and frowned steadily at him, “I will not ask you again. Why did you steal from me, Nazeem?”

She was a demanding and violent person. Cruel on occasion and harsh at all times, she commanded the fear and respect of an empire. There were _times_ , though. There were these special, silent little times that Nazeem had come to find himself blessed with, like this one. Times in which he knew that she was more than The Curse of the Magistrate. Times he had fallen asleep reading in her library and had awoken the next day tucked into her bed. Times he had wandered around, feeling aimless and alone, for her to grumpily call him to sit and help her with paperwork. He never really helped with the paperwork, he didn't remotely have the clearance for that. She would instead have him tell her about his day as she muddled through, asking careful questions to show she was listening. Times like now where she regarded him stonily after having gently cleaned his face and saw to his well being even though she was visibly quite angry. 

“I-” Nazeem found his voice catching in his throat. The thought of how she must see this, as him stealing from her after she had opened up to him - even though it was just a little - made him feel worse than any punishment she could have given him. “I needed the money,” he swallowed thickly after having choked out the words, “I didn’t know it was you when I took it. Please know I would never steal from you, Miss Bellicose. I just needed the money.” He dropped his gaze to the ground, feeling too ashamed of himself to look at her, consequences be damned. 

“I house you and provide for all of your needs, Nazeem,” Bellicose’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She flicked her gaze back to the Orcs as they carried their friend into the door they had come out of, eyeing her like a dangerous animal as they moved, “What is it that you need so badly that you must steal?” Her eyes came back to his face after the door closed behind the Orcs. Nazeem hesitated, shame building in his chest.

“It wasn’t for me. It was for my mother.” As the words left him he felt himself sag a little. It was as though the air the words rode on was part of what had kept him standing upright.

Bellicose lifted her brow, “Your mother?”

“Yes, Miss Bellicose,” Nazeem rubbed his neck and tried to look everywhere but at her face, wishing he had the same monochromatic eyes that she did so he could pretend to look at her and shift his eyes elsewhere. With a word her hand caught fire, incinerating the handkerchief and scorching off the blood to leave her skin as pale and clean as it had been before. She looked at him with an expression that he understood to mean “elaborate now” and did so. 

“My mother. She’s very sick, she has been for a long time,” he fiddled with his shirt, “I send her money when I can, and I know you got me that job in the capital’s library, but she got worse here recently and I need to move her to a better ward. I could afford it in time b-but she’s getting worse so fast and I-I’m just s-so afraid that she’s-s gonna die there and I could have helped and-” 

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him in a hug that was uncharacteristic enough of her to make him pause his near sobbing. He realized that this too was one of those times that she let him in. Just for a moment, just a little, but it was enough. Nazeem leaned into her, burying his face into the shoulder of his lover and crying in earnest. He let the fear of losing his mother and the shame of reverting to his old ways, no matter how noble the intentions, wash over him. Clutching what was technically his shirt, he held himself against Bellicose’s frame and wailed apologies at having stolen from her. She did not shush him or offer words of comfort. She did not pat his back and tell him it was okay. She simply stood there and held him steady as he sobbed his fears and his shame into her shoulder until he subsided into a sniffling mess. 

When he was done, Bellicose backed away. There was blood on her shirt where he had cried into it and the sight of it nearly brought him to tears again for having ruined her - though technically his - blouse. Before he could descend into another round of sobbing his mistress’s voice found him. 

“Help me dress, Nazeem. We’re going home,” her voice, still low and controlled, was softer than normal. Bellicose walked over to the pile of aristocratic white clothing and waited for him to do as he was told. He did, appreciating being given some kind of task that wasn’t mulling over his feelings. He helped her into her skirts and her vest and lastly her gloves and hat. She could have done it herself, especially the gloves and hat, but she seemed content to let him busy himself with the movements. 

Once she was dressed again, she held a hand out wordlessly and Nazeem presented her with her purse. From it, she produced a small stone with a rune inscribed on it. After a moment in her hand, the rune glowed a faint green and a voice sounded from it. 

“Inquisitor? Have you found your stolen belongings?” It was the captain of the royal guard if Nazeem had to hazard a guess. He could feel himself shrink. The Captain had never liked, approved of, or even tolerated Nazeem's presence if Bellicose wasn’t around. He was fairly sure it was because the Captain had wanted to bed her at some point and had been unceremoniously brushed off. If the servants’ gossip was to be trusted, that is. Regardless, he was unkind to Nazeem whenever he could get away with it.

“Yes, Captain. It was an elaborate ploy by my consort to speak with me privately about an emergency familial matter. While I applaud his ingenuity, I have properly chastised him for interrupting me at work,” Nazeem glanced at her and she at him, raising her brows to ask if he had anything to add. He shook his head. “We will meet you back at the convoy within the next ten minutes. Be ready to head out then. Nazeem will be joining me for the remainder of the ride into the city and we will be leaving once we arrive at the palace,” there was a just barely noticeable snort from the other end of the line as she looked Nazeem over, “Prepare a change of noble's clothes for the both of us upon arrival. My personal tailor should be on call to forward approximate measurements for Nazeem.”

The Captain started to say something but was cut off when she dropped the stone into her purse, severing the magical tie. She did not care what the Captain had to say, so long as he followed orders. It made Nazeem thankful for all the time she spent listening to him yammer on about this and that of little import. She didn’t do it for just anyone. Nor did she often extend her arm so that he might lead her like a proper consort to their destination, but she did this now. Usually, she saved this treat for when he escorted her to important events or parties, all of which she hated with violent emotion. They left her pent up and seething by the end of them, which of course meant he was expected to help her unwind, not that he minded in the least. 

He led her through the streets gayly, ignoring the blood on her shoulder and having almost forgotten their earlier conversation as he fell into the role of her escort. His mother still weighed heavily on his mind, but he pushed the thoughts away. He would figure something out. Something better than stealing, or so he thought.

“Nazeem,” Bellicose stopped, halting him with the movement even though he was supposed to be escorting her, “When we get home, I want you to take me to see your mother.” Her face turned from his taking her gaze with it, but she couldn’t have missed his wide eyes or gaping mouth, “I will assess her state and place her in a more appropriate ward under my name. We will do this immediately after I conclude my-”

For once in their lives, Nazeem surprised Bellicose. He could feel it in the stiffness of her body when he put his hands on each side of her face and pulled her down into a loving kiss. They didn’t typically show such displays of affection for one another. It was rare in the bedroom, more a tool for sex and a way to wind down after long sweat-drenched hours, but it had never happened outside of that most sacred and private space. It had certainly never been as softly intimate as this. He couldn’t stop it, though. Nazeem had nothing else to offer her but himself and the rising tide of pure, honest love that had swollen within him. The day had reminded him of all of the small, caring things she did for him. Not just feeding and clothing him, but the tender moments, the things she was not obligated to do by the contract they had signed. The things she had chosen to do for him because he needed or wanted them began to roll through his mind on parade, showing him the emotion in them that he hadn't yet been able to name. 

He was sure she would pull away and scold him for overstepping himself or for violating her space without an explicit invitation. Nazeem knew that this was not his place, but he had to show her what his words could not express. With his mouth pressed softly but firmly as he dared against hers, he tried his best to convey his gratitude, his affection. After a long minute in which Bellicose scarcely moved, her lips parted and she slid closer to him. Her strong arms wound around him like iron bands and pulled him into her cushioned chest with a tenderness that told him this was another of those soft moments he had come to treasure. 

With all he had, he pushed the gratitude, the love, and the trust he felt for her into the kiss, hoping that it would somehow seep into her skin so that she too could feel it. As she shared with him the first kiss they ever had outside of the bedroom, outside of sex, he felt that maybe he had succeeded in showing her what he felt. Eventually, Bellicose did pull away but her arms remained draped about him in a protective cocoon.

“You know better than to instigate without permission,” her tone was firm, but her eyes had a hint of softness to them.

“I'm not instigating anything, Miss Bellicose.” Nazeem smiled at her, finding words difficult amid the heavy emotions that rose in his chest and begin fighting to spill out of his eyes.  
Bellicose’s brow furrowed in confusion, “What, then?”

“You feel things better than you speak them, Miss Bellicose,” tears leaked out of Nazeem’s eyes in spite of himself, “I needed you to feel how I feel about you.”

Bellicose was visibly taken aback, her mask of control loosened just enough for Nazeem to know that she _had_ felt it. For a long moment, she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. With little warning, she stooped down and commandeered Nazeem’s lips in a powerful, controlled kiss. It was hard and offered little room for him to do much other than follow, but it was soft and it moved against his lips in the minute ways that she had learned he liked. It took into account his busted lip that was starting to ache again, though he hadn't voiced it yet. It was like her and it had many rough edges, but the tenderness there was unavoidable. The love she could not or would not otherwise express softened it just as it did her persona and Nazeem let it wash over him with a quiet, contented hum. 

She didn’t have to tell him what he already knew. She didn’t have to stumble through a half-confused, sometimes even half-felt, explanation of her feelings towards him that another person might have peddled. Bellicose was easy enough for him to understand once he knew that she did everything by her heart, the good and the bad. 

And though her heart was cold and hard, he knew he held it. Thawing it gently from time to time in his soft, warm hands just as she held his own heart safely in the emotional bastion of her being, Nazeem knew now how he felt about his mistress. He was no longer confused by the emotions rolling inside of him. She knew the name of those emotions now as well, and Nazeem would have it no other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact:  
> Bellicose is Temerity's younger sister by ten months, making Bellicose the second oldest of their 11 siblings.


End file.
